


Embers

by misura



Category: Ysabel - Guy Gavriel Kay
Genre: Background Het, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-10 03:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12902997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: It was not as it would be, that first time.





	Embers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iberiandoctor (jehane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane/gifts).



It was not as it would be, that first time.

He had come as a guest, intending moderation, the laying of a foundation on which to build something lasting, the sowing of seeds that might one day grow into something enabling him to make a fortune.

He had come as a civilized man, intending to show the barbarians the meaning of civilization.

Something, somewhere had gone awry, though. (He had seen _her_. And turned away, because the alternative was unthinkable - or thinkable, rather, but too clearly a mistake, an act that would gain him little and might cost him much.)

His blood felt fired, as if the heat of the fires reached him even where he had been seated, in what was probably not a place of honor, yet also not so far removed from the light that it would be an insult. He remembered thinking, _See? These people are not so different from your own after all_ as he had sat down.

You could not call them civilized, of course, but some things were universal. Human. You could draw comfort from that, courage even. He had been afraid, he admitted to himself, as they had led him and his lone companion here, through the darkness of the forest.

The fear had left him now, driven out by the drink, the fire. He realized that he might come close to enjoying himself tonight, if he wasn't careful. (Careful men rarely made their fortune - as rarely as did careless men. A balance was required, a weighing. A calculation.)

 _She_ had walked by, once, twice. It was possible that she had looked in his direction.

It was possible, also, that she had not. Such were the ways of women everywhere.

It occurred to him that she might be thinking the same thoughts, sitting in her place so much closer to the fire. _Such are the ways of men everywhere._ Or perhaps that was mere wishful thinking on his part.

More drink was offered, in a way that made it clear that to refuse would be an insult. He did not refuse.

He looked in her direction again, hoping for a glimpse, some idea of what might be gained here, or gambled. How far things might proceed, before he would have overstepped the bounds of what passed for civilized behavior among these barbarians.

His gaze was met, instead, by a man. Tall, as were they all. (Did they not suffer those children promising to grow up short to live? How did any man grow to such height?)

There was hostility in the eyes that stared back at him. Hostility and, he thought, perhaps a hint of jealousy, of envy. It warmed him. He told himself that it did so because it meant not all was lost yet. One thing to deal with a jealous rival, a would-be lover seeing competition; another, to simply be despised for what he was.

This hostility was personal. It meant he might not have imagined some portion of his interest being returned.

It meant, also, that he was treading dangerous ground here. Safer, had there been no glances, no interest. He might yet have won her, but slowly, with gifts and, eventually, words. A steadily waged campaign, rather than this instantaneous clash.

He did not have the language. The other man rose, stood before him. Absurdly tall, and muscled. A warrior, probably, long grown used to killing men.

Not guests, he didn't think. Not without far more offense than he had offered, merely by looking.

Some things were universal.

He rose, stripped off his tunic and dropped it where he had sat. Where he would sit again, assuming he survived. He felt small, and short. No one seeing the two of them would mistake him for the more likely man to emerge victorious from a fight, himself included. Even so.

Some things were universal, and so he followed the tall warrior to where a place had been cleared, near enough the fires to make his skin flush, and he prepared himself to lose with grace and, if possible, with his limbs still attached, his bones unbroken.

He promised himself that he'd try to make it last a while. His defeat was inevitable - in fact, a victory might have been imprudent, an insult to his hosts, an obstacle to friendly relations later, but it would not do to look too weak, too easily beaten by a man twice his size and strength.

Thus thinking, he was grabbed, lighting fast, and very nearly bested within a handful of heartbeats. He broke free; the other man caught hold of him again, as if he were nothing, a mere toy, unworthy even of making a serious effort.

( _Well_ , he asked himself, _and how else can he make this look good?_ )

Their third grappling ended things. He was pressed down into the earth and not to be permitted up again, it became clear, until something or another - it was not immediately evident to him what, until the other man looked at him again, and felt the other's body press against his.

It was not quite an invitation, but it was also not, quite, a command. He might refuse and walk away, pride shredded, hope lost, never to return. There would be no trading outpost then, or at least none that would bear his name, bring him his fortune.

He felt the heat of the fire lick his skin like a physical thing as he met the other's gaze. There was heat there, too, far more than hatred, or envy. Those things might return easily enough in the morning, when this night would be nothing more than a memory, the fires reduced to cold ashes.

Here and now, though, there was heat. He smiled, showing teeth - a challenge of a different kind, that must nevertheless be answered, and therefore was.

You could submit to someone and yet best them, much like you might kneel for someone, have them take of you what they would and yet make them beg. These were not the acts of civilized men, but, in this moment, at least, he was both less and more than a civilized man.

It was hard to think, to focus his attention on anything but the other. _She_ might be watching, or have long since departed, or only waited to see him defeated. That would be a pity.

He heard himself cry out, at the end, or possibly it was the other man. Perhaps they both cried out at the same time, unlikely as that seemed. The heat washed over him one last time, and then he was swallowed by the darkness, cool and soft, knowing nothing.


End file.
